


Dopamine

by DenDenMonMon



Category: American Idol RPF, X Factor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-24 07:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenDenMonMon/pseuds/DenDenMonMon
Summary: What makes your heart beat?





	1. Chapter 1

**Dopamine by DancingMonkey**

**Summary:** What makes your heart beat?

_ Written:  _ 08/19/2016-08/24/2016

**Chapter 1**

_ March, 1992. _

The neon light flashed at a short distance. The red tubes blinked at uneven intervals, making the letters N and O to come to live erratically. The word ‘vacancy’ was perfectly lit with the same bright color, not once bothered by the broken companion to its left.

Simon Cowell parked right in front of the main entrance. The old car made a rattle noise as it was finally given some time to rest. The wipers were still doing their job, keeping the windshield clear of the merciless raindrops. Even with the rubber sticks doing its best to remove water from his visual field, he couldn't help but stare at the sign with confusion. Were there any rooms available in that God forsaken motel or not?

There was only one way to find out. He turned off the lights and the wipers, and removed the car keys from the ignition. He checked his wallet, to make sure his last few pounds were still in there, before exiting the car.

The cold breeze hit his face, biting on his skin, but there was no need to worry about a coat, not anymore. It was not as if catching pneumonia could represent a problem to him those days. That was why he stood in the rain, motionless, allowing water to stick his black t-shirt to his chest and letting it filter inside his shoes. Those clothes would be useless after that night. There was no point in running away from the rain. One could never really escape it in London anyway.

His eyes went up to the grey sky, squinting, naturally trying to keep water away from them. There was really nothing to see. The moon was covered with thick layers of clouds, same as the stars and any other astral sign that could keep him from following his plan. Nothing seemed to want to stop him from above, he could only focus on his earthly surroundings. He looked inside the place, the poorly lit lobby had nothing in it but a desk and a sleepy woman sitting behind it. She boringly flipped through a magazine without paying much attention to what was written on the pages. As Simon pushed the glass door open, he wondered if that lady’s life was worse than his. It probably was, but at least she had a job.

“Do you have any vacancies?” he asked right away. There was no need for formalities. His mother would be greatly disappointed in his lack of manners but, yet again, he had done many things to let his mum down.

The woman looked up at him from the celebrity gossip, chewed her gum loudly with her mouth open as she inspected the dripping man in front of her, and then ran a bright pink nail against the page of a notebook.

“Ya, one. You want it?”

“Please and thank you.” There, he said the magic words, Mother would have no reason to be upset anymore. Actually… she had more than enough reasons.

The receptionist took out a key from a drawer, an unnecessarily big keychain was attached to it. The number 18 was engraved with golden ink on the plastic diamond. It made a loud noise as the woman threw it carelessly on top of the counter. She took a pen and wrote down the time. 23:56.

“What name should I put in here?”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Are you paying cash?” A nod answered the receptionist’s question. “I guess not, then. I just gave Bambi and Pocahontas the room next to yours anyway.”

Simon didn’t wait for an explanation, neither did he want it. He took the money out of his wallet and rushed the transaction to its end. It was an easy process, and the lack of interest from the guardian of the front desk made everything so much quicker.

He got back inside his car and drove the short distance to the room with the number that matched the oversized keychain. He parked right in front of the door. All the rooms had their lights off, except the one next to his, the room number 19. Inside that room, a silhouette moved slowly from one end of the room to stand by the window. It was clearly a woman, with her hair up at the top of her head. It looked like she was holding a cup. She was probably cold, and needed a hot drink to stay warm. The temperature seemed to have suddenly descended, or maybe it was just the fact that Simon was still inside his wet clothes.

When she moved away from the window, he figured it was time to move as well. He took his bag from the passenger seat, his cigarettes from the cupholder and faced the pouring rain again. There was no need in prolonging the inevitable. He rushed the few steps that separated him from the door and pushed the key in quickly. The knob turned under his command and he was greeted by the smell of dust and old furniture as soon as the door opened.

He found the switch, and the room was right away illuminated by the fluorescent light coming from the twisted lightbulb above. Although sad and small, it looked perfect. It was the perfect room to kill himself.

He took off his shoes and left them by the door. His soaked socks dripped with water with every step he took against the blue carpet. It was a hideous shade of blue, which made everything even more ironic. The curtains were the same color, only a few shades lighter. Maybe the decoration was done that way, or maybe sunlight had slowly but surely eaten the bright color away with each passing day, making it look like a tragic coordination of different shades of blue.

The woman giggled in the next room. The sound easily travelled through the wall and reached Simon’s ears. Following the annoying giggle, a masculine chuckle was heard. How could a man stand a girl that had such obnoxious sound as laughter?

A shiver ran through him, goosebumps appearing on his skin after the cold sensation. The responsible was surely the wet clothes, he reasoned. He made his way to the bathroom and flipped the switch on. The fan responded first before the energy saving bulb blinked back to life. The noise of the fan was loud and unnecessary. He tried to find another switch, one that would allow him to have light without noise. There was not one in sight. It was a combo, he couldn’t have one without the other. 

Resigned, he walked inside the small cubicle and stripped down. One by one the garments came off until he was completely naked. After he started the shower, he stood in front of the small shaving mirror as the water adjusted to a normal temperature. He didn’t like what he saw, it had been a while since he last saw a reflection that he actually felt comfortable with. It didn’t matter anymore, nothing really mattered. He was actually questioning his decision to take a shower just then.

He did it anyway. He cleaned his body slowly, thoughtfully. Once he was done he dried and wrapped himself in the white robe provided by the motel. He had to change. He didn’t want the police to find his cold body with nothing to cover him but a robe. He wondered if the forensics would appreciate all the effort he was making. Probably not.

The couple in the next room was having sex when he exited the bathroom. He listened to the soft moans and grunts for a minute but soon grew sick of them. There was a small alarm clock on the nightstand, he turned it on and encountered static a couple of times until he found a station.

_ “Wasn’t she in Shanghai just yesterday?”  _ A woman’s voice travelled miles and miles until it made it through the speakers of the clock.

_ “South Korea, actually.”  _ A male presenter made the correction. _ “Either way she was spotted today at the airport, it was probably a connection flight. You know she’s doing this massive world tour.” _

_ “And to think it almost didn’t happen. Seventy-five dates almost cancelled because of a…” _

Simon’s ears blocked the rest of the information, it was nothing but background noise to prevent him from listening to the nightly activities of the unconsidered couple next door.

He sat on the edge of the bed, dropping his bag next to him. There was nothing really inside but his several options. He opened it and inspected his possibilities for a moment. His pondering was interrupted yet again by the couple. He reached for the alarm clock one more time, and twisted the volume knob, making a pop song he wasn’t really listening to sound louder. Little attention was being paid to it but the lyrics suddenly forced him to actually listen.

_ “We can make it better, baby,”  _ the artist sang to him. 

Could they really?

Could things really get better?

Could his life change for the better?

He turned the volume even louder. As the singer promised him a new day, he listened carefully. 

_ “So the only promise is a day to live.” _

Was this the divine sign that he was looking for?

Just one more day to live.

He was being promised a day to live.

Just one more day.

The rhythmic banging of the neighbors’ headboard against his wall was exchanged by a fist doing the same.

“Turn that down!” the man shouted angrily.

Well, that was for sure the earthly sign he had been waiting for. It was time to do it. There was no turning back.

He would go outside, smoke a cigarette and then come back to finish what he started.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Simon had to put some clothes on before going out for that smoke. 

He looked inside his bag for something to wear. He unrolled the only pair of pants he brought with him and put them on. Carefully, he took out a black t-shirt and placed it on the bed. He unfolded it slowly, revealing the gun that he had stolen from his father. It was meant to be a protective device, nobody was even supposed to know it occupied a place in his parents’ nightstand, yet, he had recently found it without intending to.

Moving back to his childhood house had been hard, to say the least. That place had never really felt like a home to him. Since a very young age, he was sent to boarding schools. His mother preferred to leave his education in the hands of professionals that could handle him. Everybody seemed to be sick of him at his parents’ place, his siblings included. The only one who never judged him was his father. He never did once get mad at his antics. Eric Cowell showed nothing but support for his son, no matter the circumstances, but if there was something that Simon couldn’t really recover from, was the look of disappointment in his father’s face when he told him about his bankruptcy.

That was what started everything. That was the reason why he was inside that horrible motel room in the first place.

His company had been doing well, not good but they were sustaining themselves. Yet, it wasn’t enough to give him the lifestyle he wanted to have. He was expending more money than they were making. Little by little the deals started to come to an end, and not getting renewed. Bigger companies provided better benefits to their artists and they all started to leave. Sinitta’s record had stopped injecting money to the company a long time ago. Her contract had terminated because of that, as well as their personal relationship.

Simon loved her and still did, he had no doubts about it. She needed something else, though, something that he couldn’t give her, not personally nor professionally. She had taken her business elsewhere, and her love to another man. That was the last straw, the last addition to the chain of misfortunes in his life that took him to take this decision.

He inspected the gun, he opened it and checked the cylinder. All the slots were occupied by a bullet but one. 

What were the odds of him finally pulling the trigger and getting nothing but air pushed in the direction of his brain?

The couple next door finished with loud grunting. The guy cursed out loud but no female sound followed, making Simon wonder if the girl even reached her climax. What did he even care anyway? He always made sure that his partner had an orgasm before he did, but that didn’t mean everybody had to do the same. The guy who stopped in the middle of it all to yell at him was definitely not that kind.

Shortly after, he heard the door of the room adjacent to his getting opened and immediately closed. There was the sound of a car easily being started and then tires against the pavement. The couple was gone, thankfully.

Simon remembered a lawn chair placed just outside his room. It was a smokers’ spot, for sure. With full intentions of occupying it, he placed the gun under a pillow, got dressed and made his way outside with his cigarettes in hand.

The cold air greeted him right away, any piece of exposed skin complained at the sudden change of temperature. The rain hadn't stopped. It never did. The wind carried the smallest drops with it, which only charged the breeze with tiny little ice molecules that froze his pores to the touch.

He spotted the chair outside his room first and the woman sitting on a similar plastic furniture a few steps away, second. His eyes couldn't help but fix on her as he took a seat.

Her hair was a complete mess, gathered too high up her head. She had her eyes closed. Her body was covered with matching purple and golden sweat pants and shirt. Her legs rested tangled in a lotus position, her bare feet on top of the opposite thigh and one hand on each knee. 

She was small, too small actually.

Her right eye opened, meeting his inspecting stare.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked with a clear American accent.

Simon shook his head and took a cigarette to his mouth. He let the calming effect of the nicotine to fill his lungs before pushing the smoke out through his nose.

“Are you a Lakers fan?” The burning stick pointed at the logo embroidered chest high on the sweatshirt.

“Girl, Laker Girl.” She looked at him as she corrected his statement before coming back to her meditation.

His head nodded even though she could no longer see him, and even though he had no idea what her clarification meant. He knew close to nothing about sports, the terminology was unknown to him. The cigarette reached his lips again and he raked his brain for the right definition of the title she had just used to describe herself. The cancer stick did the trick again.

“So you are a cheerleader?”

There was no immediate reaction from her. Ever so slowly she opened her eyes and directed them to him. They studied his face carefully for a moment before her lips pronounced a reply.

“I'm a dancer. Choreographer to be exact.” There was a paused while her examination continued. “What are you?”

His mouth opened and closed, his brain failing in giving it an answer to reply.

What was he?

“I don't know,” he said with honesty. 

He truly didn't know. He was no longer a producer, he wasn't a talent scout, he wasn't the head of any department or president of any label. He was nobody.

Apparently, his last thought left his mouth without permission because she shook her head.

“We are all something. Right from the start you are a son, probably a brother, a boyfriend. You are a human being… I hope.” And then the annoying sound she carried as giggle was heard. “You surely have to be something.”

Heat suddenly touched his fingers, he looked down just to notice his cigarette had consumed itself thanks to the strong wind. He threw the butt to the nearest puddle and it extinguished right away.

“Even if I'm not a good one? A good son, a good brother, a good boyfriend?” He didn't look at her as he spoke, his attention was focus on the green box that held the next fix for his addiction.

“It doesn't matter, you are still all those things. Just like you are a fan of mine, even when you pretend to not recognize me.” There was that giggle again, following her words.

He was so confused. The confusion probably showed in his facial expression because she then processed to explain.

“You were listening to my song, earlier tonight.”

Those words did nothing to clear his head. He still had no idea what she was talking about.

“Promise of a New Day?” She was questioning him more than providing answers. “You were listening to it pretty loudly.”

Something suddenly clicked. She was the divine signal, she was the promise of one more day to live, she promised him they could make it better.

“Hi, I'm Paula Abdul.” She extended her hand to him, noticing the realization finally filling his features.

He took her hand in his, shaking it firmly. “Pawler Abdul.” He tasted the name on his mouth, pronouncing it slowly in hopes of making some sense of it. “You dance with a cat,” he suddenly found himself saying.

She laughed, recovering her hand from his grip. “ I do. MC Skat Kat, that's the name of the cat. He's got a contract of his own now.”

“You gave a cartoon character a recording contract?” He asked surprised, she nodded her head happily as a reply. “How on Earth did you land the deal?”

Her shoulders shrugged as her lips formed a knowingly smirk. “He has a shark of a manager, me,” she said proudly. “Plus, Skat Kat is a pimp.”

“I've seen the video,” he admitted. “How come I didn't recognize you?”

Even though the music world was quite big, he always prided himself with knowing who was who and who did what inside the industry. It had been a terrible mistake to overlook the fact that he was talking to a singer, she mustn't be a very good one if he had no idea who she was.

Her hand waved in the air, excusing his mistake. “I'm never really in the UK, I promote my music mainly in North America and Asia. I'm surprised someone was actually playing it here in London. Sorry if my boyfriend was rude about it, I had to ask him to make you turn it down.”

“I understand. You probably didn't want to hear your own voice singing while having sex.”

As many shades of red as he could think of appeared on her cheeks. “You-you heard that?” She covered her face with her hands, not wanting to even hear the answer.

Simon shrugged. “The walls are marvelously thin in crappy motels like this one.”

“I am so sorry.” Her voice was muffled by her hands still pressing hard against her face.

His laughter surprised even himself. “I'm the one that's sorry, it didn't sound like you were having such a good time.”

“Alright,” she said while sitting up straight. “This conversation is over.” She stood up, found her tennis shoes under the chair and put them on.

He didn't stop her. She made her way to her room but stopped with the knob in her hand.

“Hey, not a good son, brother and boyfriend, I never got your name.”

He pondered for a moment how much information he wanted her to have. She was no longer a random person that randomly happened to be in a random room at the motel that he randomly picked. She was actually a celebrity, probably a diva. A diva that was better off without knowing the name of the guy that blew his brains out in the room next to hers.

“Simon,” he simply let out.

She seemed thoughtful as she spoke again. “Simon… Do you have a last name?”

He shook his head solemnly. “Just Simon, like Madonna.”

It took her a second to understand the joke but she finally laughed. The awkwardness between them was lifted at least momentarily.

“Say, Simon, are you hungry?” 

Her eyes pointed across the street. An old diner stood underneath the rain. A perfectly functional neon sign blinked to let them know it was opened twenty-four hours.

Having a last meal was not in his plans. He didn't even bring money to buy food. But, at the same time, and for some inexplicable reason, he couldn't find it in him to say no to her.

“My treat,” she insisted, pulling the door back to its place. “It's the least I can do for the horrible evening we made you have.” She stood right in front of him with her hands on her hips. “If you say no that will only make me start a negotiation,” she warned him.

His legs pushed him to stand up even before he took the decision. A smile took over her face at his actions and she immediately stepped into the pouring rain, making her way to the diner.

She turned back to look at him over her shoulder. “Come on!” 

He could do nothing but follow her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

A bell rang above his head when Simon opened the door of the diner. _So cliché_ , he thought with a roll of his eyes.

He found Paula at the end of the place, hugging a waitress.

“I’m sorry I got you all wet, honey,” Paula apologized as they let go.

The middle age woman in the hideous uniform seemed close to tears. “No, this is brilliant. Thank you. Paula Abdul can wet my clothes any time.”

He made his way to the women as they chatted. Paula held the waitress’ hand as the older woman explained something with excitement. The smile on Paula’s face was genuine, he could tell as much. He had worked with many singers, and befriended a lot more, it wasn’t in the nature of most of them to be this kind to their fans. It was refreshing.

She rubbed the woman’s arm sweetly when the tears started flowing. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you bring me a piece of paper and we can write your daughter a message? No, better yet, do you have a phone? Do you think Sophie would mind if we call her at…” She looked at the clock above the cash register. “Two in the morning?”

“No, not at all!” The woman awkwardly jumped up and down, clapping her hands together with happiness.

Paula looked at him, the smile still nailed to her lips. “Hope you don’t mind, I’ll be right back. Pick whichever booth you like.”

The place was completely empty, he literally could pick whichever booth he wanted. Taking the decision wasn’t a problem, he simply sat on the booth immediately next to him. The seat was unexpectedly comfortable, the couch adapted to his form as soon as Simon sat down. He bounced a couple of times, enjoying the discovery of the surprisingly good furniture.

His eyes focused behind the counter, where Paula had a phone pushed to her ear and a smile still on her lips. Her free hand moved in the air, as if the person on the other side of the line could see her and have a better understanding of what she was explaining. Simon smiled at how ridiculous she looked but, as soon as he felt the corners of his lips moving up, he made himself stop. He hadn’t smiled in a long time. This obnoxious woman couldn’t possibly be the reason for him to start doing it again. He already caught himself even laughing in her presence. It was becoming way too much.

Trying to find a distraction, he forced his attention to look outside the window. He could see his car parked in front of the room that would be his last.

“I always pick room nineteen.” Paula’s voice came from above him.

Simon, unable to tear his stare from the number on the door, sensed how she sat opposite him, her eyes going in the same direction as his.

“Do you always pick the eighteen?” Her cheerful curiosity was disturbing. 

The corner of his eye studied her for a moment, he then faced her completely. “It was the last room available,” he said as way of explanation.

Her mouth twisted to the side, the fainting traces of lipstick visible under the fluorescent light. “What a phenomenal coincidence, don’t you think?”

Was it really a coincidence? He never believed in them, but, once his life literally depended on it, he kind of wanted to pay extra attention to the little things. Such as the fact that, the only reason why he was postponing his plans for the night, was thanks to the woman that always picked the room number nineteen at lousy motels in the middle of nowhere.

“Explain something to me, would you?” 

His chain of thoughts pushed him to question her but, before he could even ask, the same waitress as before approached the table. She dried her eyes with her apron and handed each a menu.

“Thank you again.” Her words were directed to Paula. “My little girl is so happy right now.”

“That fills my heart with the same happiness. You have a very beautiful daughter.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. She never saw the girl, she only talked to her for a few minutes. How come Paula had concluded the extend of the beauty she owned? She shouldn’t be patronizing people, making them believe they could be something they weren’t. Yet again, it didn’t matter, nothing really mattered. 

“Aw, thank you. Can I offer you anything to drink?” This time the waitress divided her attention between the couple sitting in front of her.

Paula spoke first, her eyes already travelling through the laminated list of meals she held in hand. “I’ll have some coffee. Thank you.”

Simon touched his pocket, making the few coins inside it to collide with each other. The noise let him know there were not really that many of them.

“A cup of tea, please.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Paula said as she stretched her short arm across the table, a useless attempt to reach his. “It’s on me, remember?” She was practically reading his mind.

“Oh, no!” The waitress seemed shocked. “It’s on the house.”

Paula smiled kindly, retrieving her hand and placing it on her chest, right above her heart. “You are very sweet. Thank you.”

“Anything for you. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“Thank you, really.”

They watched in silence as the waitress walked away from them. It wasn’t until she was behind the counter that Paula leaned closer to Simon, to share an important secret, or so it seemed.

“Isn’t it funny that, when you are a celebrity, with more than enough money to pay for your own food, that is when people wanna give you free stuff?” She laughed as she sat up straight again. “Blows my mind.”

That same thought brought Simon back to his previous interrogation. “What are you doing here?”

She eyed him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“What are you doing here? What is a celebrity, with more than enough money to pay for a room in one of the finest hotels in the country, doing in a hideous motel like this one?”

Her loud laughter broke the silence of the empty diner. It took her a moment to compose herself before she could reply. “You see, since I started my tour, I don’t see my boyfriend as much as I would like to. He’s here promoting his movie so I took a plane from South Korea to meet him. Nobody is supposed to know that I’m here.”

Their cups were placed in front of each; containers with cream, sugar and honey were left in the middle of the table.

As she thanked the waitress, something suddenly clicked about her unnecessarily long explanation. 

“Darling, sorry to tell you but you being here is all over the news.”

The spoon that Paula held was pointed at him accusingly “Aha! You are a fan, knew it.”

He rolled his eyes and, before he could clarify the source of the information, they were asked for their order.

“I’m gonna have the…” Paula drawled the last word as she, one more time, spotted what she wanted, as if she had forgotten all of the sudden. “Banana pancakes, please. No butter.”

He pondered for a moment if he really wanted to eat something. It would be rude to make her eat alone, but he had to remember the forensics yet again. He had watched enough police movies to know what the deal was after they found a body. Did he really want them to open him up just to find a stack of pancakes half digested in his stomach? Maybe if he ordered something manly, like steak or ribs, they would forget the fact that he acted as a coward and took the easy way out.

“Anything for you, sir?” The waitress brought him back from his conjuring of the possible police investigation.

“French toast, please.”

“That’s a side meal, sir, do you want to have it with something else?”

“I’m not really that hungry,” he said as excuse for his decision and handed her the menu back. It was a lot easier that way. He didn’t want to explain how it was possible that he would had already processed a small meal like that by the time he was found a few hours later.

The woman stepped away to enter their order, leaving them alone once again.

His attention was directed to the rain outside. It wasn’t as strong as before, although the wind had picked up. He could see the droplets involuntarily dancing with the invisible forces of the air blowing against them. They were pushed towards the massive glass window to his right, then ran down the surface until they landed on the sidewalk. They all united at the end of their journey, gathered together to become one, to become a fluent current that would carry everything away. Maybe there was still hope. Maybe, as the dark sky above and the dirty streets below, his life still had a chance to clear up.

“...and that’s when the dragon came and ate us all.”

His head snapped to face her. He blinked a couple of times as he tried to land in the reality of their conversation. His thoughts had carried him so far away that he had no idea what on Earth she was talking about.

“Pardon?” he finally asked once he was able to find his voice.

Her giggles didn’t sound as annoying when they bounced against the walls of the empty place this time. “You were not paying any attention to my story. I had to bring you back.”

He nodded. Part of him wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t truly sorry. If anything, she was the one that intruded with his plan. She was the one that took him away from his course. She shouldn’t be upset if his head was preoccupied with personal commitments as important as taking his own life. 

Her elbow was placed on the table, and her chin rested on her closed fist solemnly. Her eyes squinted, and her lips pursed slightly. She seemed intrigued as she studied him yet again. 

“What are you, Simon?” she asked out loud, but her question was not precisely for him. She threw it in the air to hang there until she came up with an answer herself.

“I already told you.”

A headshake encountered his lame attempt of reply. “You have to be something… but what?”

He shrugged a shoulder, trying to make the subject the least interesting as possible.

“What if I guess? Can I guess?” Her eyes filled with excitement as she saw a possible answer in the near future.

His arms crossed on top of his chest, a smile trying to force a way to his lips. “You can try.”

“Oh, you are on!”

This could be either a very interesting or extremely dangerous game.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Simon pushed the door open, allowing Paula to step out into the early morning first. Thankfully, the rain had reduced to small water molecules that did nothing but turn the air colder.

“Ooh, I know!” She faced him with a jump, both her index fingers pointing at him. “A trapezist! You are a trapezist!”

He walked down the steps of the diner laughing from the bottom of his lungs. She didn't follow him.

“I am most certainly not a trapezist,” he said, looking up to her as she stood at the top of the short staircase.

Her options had become more and more ludicrous as her guessing game went on. She had gotten it right pretty much since the start. Probably because she was part of the music business, her first options were right on that field. She had guessed his profession after a few tries, but the game had turned out to be way too much fun like to have it ending so soon. Simon kept giving her negative answers to whatever options she came up with, which only encouraged her to let her imagination run wild.

“You know, trapezist have a great sense of balance.”

She stood right at the edge of the step, with her feet close together, and raised her arms to her sides. Her eyes closed and, ever so slowly, she stood at the very tip of her toes.

“Everything in this world is about balance.” She spoke with her eyes closed, her right leg slowly running up her left one, only stopping once it reached her thigh.

He looked at her intently, trying to figure out the reason why she had suddenly decided to impersonate a flamingo.

“The most beautiful flowers usually have thorns.”

Her arms moved up in the air, forming a perfect arch to frame her head. She looked almost majestic in that position. It didn't matter how tiny she was, in that instant she was immense. The dark night embraced her but, at the same time, her form was bathed in the brightest light. An extraordinary exemplification of the musings she was unfolding.

“Have you noticed…” Her eyes opened slowly to look at him. “How pills that taste absolutely horrible, are always the most effective ones? That's balance.”

She lowered her arms to extend to her sides again.

“Coins have two sides.”

She jumped a step down, avoiding a puddle and landing gracefully on the tips of the toes of her other foot.

“Yin and Yang.”

One more jump.

“Day…”

Jump.

“And night.”

Jump.

She landed right in front of him. Her eyes found his, silently freezing him in place. She lowered her leg first, then her arms went down to her sides. Their stares were still locked, their connection only breaking momentarily by the natural need of blinking.

“You could never recognize the light, if you haven't lived in darkness,” she whispered, her words directed for only him to hear.

He looked down at her, towering her, trying to take advantage of their height difference to reduce the impact of her deep speech.

“Why are you telling me this?” His tone was a lot colder than he intended to.

Next thing he sensed was the warm touch of the palm of her hand against his cheek. He had nothing against cute girls touching him, but there was something about the way she caressed him that set his skin on fire. Not precisely in the sensual interpretation of the feeling.

“Why are you so sad, Simon? What wounded you so deeply?”

His eyes opened at once, he hadn't even noticed he had closed them at her touch. Emotions were playing with him, with his thoughts. Emotions that she had provoked and he needed to shut down.

“It's none of your business,” he replied dryly. “We better get you back in your room before your boyfriend finds you out here so late.”

They started walking back. Her arm found its way to link with his, forcing his elbow to bend so he could embodied the role of a perfect gentleman that escorted a lady back to her chambers. Bollocks! Why did Mother have to teach him such manners?

“He's not coming back.” Her voice brought him back from his imaginary discussion with his mother. “My boyfriend, he's not coming back,” she clarified looking down, the tip of her shoe slightly kicking up water as they moved.

“He left you here?”

There was a nod before an answer was pronounced. “As I said, he's here for work, I'm not even supposed to be here. I should have been on a plane to California right now, but there weren't any flights available until later this afternoon.”

They had reached her door by then. She looked up at the golden numbers nailed to the wood, then directed her eyes down to the knob before they found his face.

He knew an invitation when it was presented to him, but this was an invitation for what? He couldn't possibly step inside her room, not when another man had just left. Moreover, she didn't look like that kind of woman. Her face didn't have any hints of sexual incitement, her eyes didn't show traces of lust or desire. As he looked deep inside those endless pools of emotions, he saw nothing but loneliness, loneliness that ran as deep as his own.

It was too much for him to take. He had enough with his solitude like to deal with the desolation of a perfect stranger.

“Good night, Pawler Abdul.”

He didn't look back, he turned around and made his way to his own room. Not even the little voice at the back of his head telling him that he should have said good morning, given that the sun would be making an appearance shortly, was enough to make him come back and correct himself.

In a matter of seconds he found himself secured in the isolation of the four walls he had rented until midday. 

The radio was still on, playing some generic tune knowing that nobody was really listening at four in the morning. He walked to the head of the bed, immediately turning off the alarm clock placed on the night stand. And that was when he heard it. He heard her crying. The marvelously thin walls did nothing to prevent her grieving from reaching his ears.

What a wondrous thing sadness could be. It took no notice in social status, economic level, or educational achievements. Celebrity, receptionist, or bankrupted record producer, they all felt the same emptiness eating them slowly when left alone. There was no escape of one’s destructive thoughts when there was no one around to provide a distraction.

Her cries grew louder and the intensity of her laments increased as well. The noise of the bathroom fan was heard next and, the following sound that reached his ears, was unmistakably her emptying her stomach of the meal she had just consumed.

Involuntarily, his attention was undividedly dedicated to her, trying to make out as much as he could of the distorted information he was receiving.

The event lasted only a few minutes. Soon the fan stopped spinning and her sobbing was no longer audible. There was a loud bang, which he recognized as the headboard of the bed next door hitting the drywall. She had probably exhausted herself and couldn't do anything else but throw her tired body on the bed, pushing it against his wall.

What could possibly be so bad in her life that made her feel that way? 

Maybe Simon should tell her his story, show her the darkness he lived in so she could appreciate the light in her life. Maybe she should have listened to her own speech and take her own advice. Maybe she should appreciate the beauty of the flowers without fearing the thorns. And she should be the one doing all of that, not him, he was a lost case. Besides, he didn't believe one word of all that corny rubbish she referred to as she jumped puddles like a little girl.

His hand reached under the pillow, finding his prize right where he left it. The silver gun shined as he inspected it from side to side. It was a beautiful weapon. Only his father had the availability to find beauty even in those cases.

He opened the cylinder yet again and spun it a couple of times, wondering where the missing bullet had ended up. The empty space went around and around, perhaps trying to provide him some sense of hope. Luck could be on his side this time.

The ammunition was pushed back to its place. It was time to end the game.

His heart started beating faster, his hands were sweating, every fiber of his body seemed to finally come to life. There were a million butterflies creating chaos in the pit of his stomach. His senses responded all at once. In that very instant, when his entire world was about to come to an end, he felt more alive than ever before.

The barrel stared him in the face, ready to do the job under his command. He wondered if it would be easier to do it any other way. There were many other options but neither was as effective as this one. It only took one second to do the trick, the quick and painless trick.

He parted his lips, but the mere idea of tasting the metal in his mouth had him pushing them shut again. Closing his eyes he pressed the cold material against his forehead. 

There was a knock on the door, a knock that he ignored completely.

The safety lock was removed with a click and his finger then moved to rest against the trigger. It would only take one move and everything would be over.

Her voice sounded distant, as if it had to travel through the layers and layers of fog that surrounded him before he could hear her.

“Simon, are you awake?”

Silence encountered her question for a long moment.

His eyes snapped open, he threw the gun across the bed, and felt his lungs filling with air again.

“I am now.”

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more update with an epilogue.


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue.**

“Paula Abdul is here.”

Simon dropped everything he was holding to reach for the larger button of the intercom. “Send her in, please,” he requested, doing nothing to hide his excitement.

He moved the papers around his desk to form perfect piles. Ornaments and picture frames were placed on their rightful spot, and pens landed inside their holder as he did his best to make the office look as presentable as possible. It wasn’t as if the place were a complete mess, and she was never one to judge him. Yet, something inside him, for an unbeknown reason, pushed him to move things around to arrange them differently.

With the palm of his hand he removed the few wrinkles on his shirt and stood up straight.

The front door of his office opened up, he could feel his heartbeat speeding as it did. The mere idea of seeing her, after so long, made immeasurable waves of excitement to run through him. His knees quivered, threatening with giving in to the slightest move. His hands fell to his sides, he opened and closed them as cold sweat started to gather in his palms. That combination of feelings was a very familiar one, a mixture of emotions he rather longed for, and that didn’t reach his senses often enough. Paula Abdul was not in front of him often enough.

She was right there this time, though. She was revealed when the door opened completely. The black high heels poorly compensated the height she lacked of. The fishnet tights exposed very little of her toned legs for him to see. A short dress hugged her curves, or at least that’s what he imagined, because her body was covered with an oversized coat. Probably to shield her from the merciless London weather, same that she could never stop complaining about.

Now, he could see the superstar in front of him. She embodied the epitome of a singer, an artist, a performer; not the hot mess he met five years before on that same date. She looked like a wet poodle back then, with her curly hair sticking to her face thanks to the rain. That was one of his favorite memories of her, the same that started her nickname.

“Come here, Poodle,” he said as he patted his thighs, his voice encouraging her to follow his order.

That was a game she actually liked to play. She stuck her tongue out and, pressing her elbows to her waist, she placed her hands up to her chest. Her way to him was done by jumping constantly, like a dog would advance if it stood only on its back legs.

Just when she was about to reach him, he put a hand up.

“Now stay, stay.”

She pretended to doubt if she should be obedient, giving a tentative small jump forward.

“I said stay,” he said more firmly this time. “Or there won't be any treats for Poodle.”

That was enough to keep her in place. She looked at him with eyes filled with excitement. She smiled widely as she exaggerated her breathing. Little whimpering sounds came from her throat in anticipation. Her butt wiggled in lack of a tail, provoking in him loud and joyful laughter.

His index finger was placed in front of her, motioning her to stay still. Meanwhile his other hand reached for the top drawer of his desk. He blindly tried to find the prize, unable to tear his eyes away from her. His hand ran against a few papers before his fingers touched the recognizable material.

Actual barks left her mouth when she spotted the present. It was wrapped in brown paper, a deep purple ribbon broke the flat square into quadrants and formed a gigantic bow right in the middle of it.

“Is that for me?” She asked adopting her human form again. 

A nod answered her question.

Her hands clapped together in excitement but he moved the present up and out of her reach. 

“Oh my goodness, give me my gift.”

“Give me a kiss,” he retorted. 

She didn't think about it twice. She walked the few steps separating them, her hands landed on his shoulders and she balanced herself on one foot. Her lips pressed softly but firmly on his cheek, dangerously close to his lips, touching the very corner of his mouth and leaving a perfect print of her lips made of lipstick on his skin.

The sudden lightness in his arm made him opened his eyes, he had closed them at her touch and that gave her the chance to jump and easily take away from his grip what belonged to her.

She moved freely around his office. Her coat was dropped on a chair, revealing the black dress that he had imagined. And, right after, she found her favorite spot on the big couch at the end of the office. She sat down, bouncing on the cushions as she excitedly waved the gift in the air.

“What is it?” 

The flat square didn't do any noise as she shook it close to her ear.

“Why don't you open it and find out?” he suggested, taking a seat next to her.

The wrapping was torn to shreds under her eagerness. Tiny pieces of paper fell to the ground as they revealed the mysterious content. It was a record. The sleeve had bright colors adorning it. It looked like a green field on a sunny day. On the front, figures that looked a lot like mascots seemed to be dancing under the clear sky.

“Tele… tubbies?” She read the name at the top with confusion. “What is this?”

“You’ve never heard of the Teletubbies?” The tone of his voice made it sound like the most illogical thing in the world.

Paula inspected the record from side to side. “No, I mean, I have. That show is the only thing on my sister's TV these days, but… What is this? They have records now? Did you give them a record deal?”

Simon smiled proudly.

“What were you even thinking?!” She seemed surprised to hear the news.

His arm casually found its way behind her, resting on the back of the couch.

“A long time ago, I met a shark of a manager that got a recording contract for a rapping cat. It was a marvelously crazy idea, an idea that brought her insane amounts of money and now is doing the same for me too.”

“You are kidding!”

Her mouth fell opened in shock. The expected slap on his arm came right after. He didn't even flinch, he was way too used to her trying to physically hurt him with no success whatsoever. It was a charming quirk of hers, one that didn't even bruise him anymore, one that he terribly missed when she was away.

“The album will be released tomorrow.”

His arm slid down and wrapped around her shoulders. He easily pulled her towards him, pressing her hard against his body.

“Aren't you gonna wish me luck?” The infamous Cowell pout made an appearance to accompany his whining.

“Success.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt. “I wish you success, luck is for the unprepared.”

Her wise words pushed him to press his lips to the top of her head. It was inevitable not to inhale the aroma that could only be identified as hers and hers alone. He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of the moment. She was right there, in his arms, smiling against his chest, with hopes of a successful future, with a promise of a new day. He didn't need anything else.

She was right, he was prepared. There was nothing to worry about. His music empire was well on its way to get built. Stone by stone, he was slowly and carefully putting back together the company that he had once lost. If this new construction was stronger than the last one, it was only because he had her by his side. It had been years since he last felt alone, and he had only her to thank.

He would never forget that night, when his entire life was ready to come to a bloody end. The night that an obnoxious little dancer brought his plans to a halt. Even though he had his friends and family in mind, even though he knew that it was nothing but a bad patch that could soon be over, even though he could count a million reasons why his life was worth living, it was only thanks to her that his heart started beating one more time. 

Many moons ago, on that exact date, he was born again. That was the reason why she was there to visit, to celebrate his second birthdate.

“Hey, I'm hungry,” she suddenly spoke, taking him out of his musings.

“What are you in the mood for?” He loosened his grip on her, just enough to be able to look at her on the face.

She smiled widely, making every fiber of his body come to life in that same instant.

“Banana pancakes and toast,” she said with a knowingly smile.

“Come on. I know just the place.”


End file.
